


it only took one kiss to know

by adoesetfree



Category: Starlight Express - Phillips/Stilgoe/Webber
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22040413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adoesetfree/pseuds/adoesetfree
Summary: "It's a human tradition!" CB gushed, rocking back and forth on his wheels. Rusty looked on with what he hoped was an expression more encouraging than nervous: he didn't have as much cause to deal with humans as a caboose would and knew little of their traditions, never mind one that might interestthiscaboose. CB raised the mistletoe with renewed vigor. "It goes that when two people are caught beneath it at the same time...they have to kiss."Or,Rusty has work to do. CB has other ideas.
Relationships: CB | Caboose/Rusty (Starlight Express)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	it only took one kiss to know

**Author's Note:**

> I got it stuck in my head that I needed to do a mistletoe fic for my current OTP for the holiday season, and of course did not get started on said fic until the day _after_ Christmas, but hey. The plan was to get it done before New Years and I'm happy to report that we did it, folks.
> 
> Enjoy!

Rusty woke to a day exceeding in its desire to be picturesque.

Sunlight, blindingly bright, streamed through the windows of his room, further paining eyes already sore from lingering exhaustion. He breathed in and the crisp air traveled too readily down his throat, its passage burning, the expansion of his lungs too sharp. A look out the window beside his bed showed Rusty about what he'd expected to see: the night before the 'yard had gotten its first snowfall of the season, and the landscape was now blanketed in a decent layer of pillowy white. A tree stood tall near the window, stripped bare of its leaves by the winter season, but then gifted in kind with long spindles of ice hung delicately from the tips of its branches. They were just beginning to melt in the early morning Sun, their clear surfaces glossy and pointed ends dripping.

It would be a nice day, Rusty thought, to just stay in bed, warm and cozy, and do nothing...

As it was, he had work to do.

Rusty rolled out of bed and pulled out his work uniform: the heavy, oversized plates that marked him both as a steamer and a switch engine. They may have been handsome examples of craftsmanship back in their heyday, but were now dented, discolored, and rusted with old age and hard use.

He put on first his wheels, which were his own: they were well-fitted and carefully polished to show for it. He then assembled his uniform, piece by piece: first the greaves and cuisses, then the hefty cuirass followed by the gorget, and lastly the bulky pauldrons.

He ignored the heavy-duty gauntlets in favor of a simpler pair of work gloves. The engine was resolved not to be out for too long.

Stepping outside, the first thing Rusty noticed were the paths that had been cleared amongst the blankets of snow: manual work, done by some unfortunate and no doubt now-frosty trains in the early morning hours, so that the rest of the 'yard could get around easier.

Rusty tightened the straps of his thick gloves, relieved that he, by some stroke of luck, had not been roped into that task, while simultaneously dreading the work ahead of him.

"Good morning, Rusty!"

Rusty jumped at the sudden voice that cut through the chilly morning air. He looked over his shoulder and wasn't even a little surprised to see CB rolling towards him. He had a calmer version of his usual smile in place, one foot cocked behind him as he glided forward smoothly on the other.

"Hey— 'morning, CB. What're you doing out this way?"

"Just strollin'!" CB chirped, stopping short a few feet in front of the engine. Rusty couldn't help a small grin himself— it was hard not to match the little truck's cheerful energy.

CB looked him up and down appraisingly, pausing as he took in the sturdy gloves and work uniform.

"Why're ya dressed for work, Rusty?"

Rusty made a face somewhere between a self-depreciating grin and a grimace. "Because I'm headed to work, CB."

CB frowned, nearly exaggerated in his concern. "Well why are ya doing that? It's a lazy day!" He swept his arms out, gesturing at the snow-embanked land around them as if they needed clarification on _why_ it was a lazy day.

"I know," Rusty said, "But I need to finish clearing out the freight yard. I didn't get done yesterday and I need to now before the snow gets any deeper, or the machinery ices over."

"Well I’ll come with ya!"

"No," Rusty blurted. "There’s no need," he tacked on, an awkward and ineffective attempt at sounding less clipped. "I’m used to doing it alone."

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say: rather than backing off CB stood to attention, smile somehow brightening further. "Then I should come! You shouldn’t have to do it all on your own, Rusty!"

 _I’d prefer to._ "You always keep busy, CB. Don’t you want a break?"

"No way!"

Before Rusty could react, CB rushed past him, swiveling smoothly on his wheels to position himself to attach to the engine's couplers. Rusty tensed enough to snap, looking warily over his shoulder.

"CB…"

"I don’t—," CB cut himself off, faltering uncharacteristically. Rusty watched as his fingers flexed spasmodically, hovering anxiously over his couplers. "I don’t wanna be a nuisance, Rusty… I just wanna help."

Rusty watched in mild panic as CB’s face began to take on _that_ expression: the one with the tight jaw and jutting bottom lip, the brow furrowed in hurt confusion, the large eyes made wide and sorrowful. It was a look the little caboose adopted often after being brushed off for one reason or another, and one that most gave into. Privately, Rusty always speculated on the sincerity of those kicked puppy looks.

Outwardly, he had no more will than all the rest.

Rusty sighed. "Alright, CB. Of course you’re not a nuisance. I appreciate it, really. Come on."

CB’s hands clamped over his couplers immediately, small but as tight as a vice. His wide smile was back as if it’d never left, and Rusty blinked once, twice, to process the sudden change. "That’s great, Rusty! You won’t even notice I’m here, I promise!"

Rusty severely doubted that, but forced a smile and nodded as he began pulling them along.

CB proved surprisingly true to his word: for two whole minutes.

"I like—," the caboose began, before cutting himself off, "I like the patterns, Rusty. On your collar."

"Patterns?" He didn’t mean the rust patches, did he? Rusty felt an irritable swoop in his stomach, torn between defensive anger and resigned agitation at whatever game CB was playing.

"Uh-huh. The ice."

"Ice."

"Uh-huh!" CB, in a sudden burst of excitement, threw himself backwards, small hands tightening on Rusty’s couplers as he held his weight. Rusty wasn't prepared for the sudden motion, nor the additional weight, and teetered dangerously on his back wheels, arms wind-milling wildly in an effort to stay upright. There was a weightless moment wherein his back wheels slipped from beneath him, and he was certain he would topple in a painful heap right on top of the truck behind him.

Before that could happen there was a shove from behind, and he roughly regained his footing, though he remained tottery for a few seconds more.

CB had been cackling all the while, high giggles pealing from his throat. "From the cold!" he exclaimed once Rusty was fully balanced.

Rusty, too busy recovering from the adrenaline of the near-fall, took more than a few moments to understand what CB was talking about _now_.

"The cold? Wha— oh." He looked down at his chest and arms, covered by the metal pieces of his work uniform, which had indeed frosted over with a thin layer of ice: so thin that it melted instantly beneath Rusty's curious touch.

"It’s pretty," CB repeated, voice gone soft in that bizarre way of his. He had his hands clasped behind his back and was swinging them idly, looking up at Rusty from beneath his lashes with big, sincere eyes.

Maybe it was because of that off-beat sincerity that Rusty felt his ire melt away despite himself.

"Yeah," he said, "Thanks, CB."

CB went strangely quiet after that, coupling to Rusty and staying well behaved for the rest of the journey. He even pulled his own weight for once. Rusty chose not to think much of it, enjoying the rare silence while it lasted.

It wasn't long before they reached the freight yard. Rusty rolled to a stop, allowing CB to uncouple from him, and turned to face the caboose, intending to give him some instructions on what to do next. 

Except the words never made it out, for as soon as he turned the little caboose sprung forward.

Rusty closed his eyes on instinct, bracing for impact. CB was prone to flinging himself into the arms of bystanders when he was in his more hyperactive moods, and regardless of the consequences— whether he be swung and tossed around as he preferred (as with Greaseball), or dropped (as with mostly anyone else), or even shoved harshly to the ground (as with Flat-Top)— would cackle in delight as he made a game out of being a nuisance. He'd never tried such a thing with Rusty before, but the engine supposed it was never too late to start.

CB _did_ giggle— softer than his usual grating cackles— but the hard impact that Rusty expected never came. The steamer opened his eyes and was met with CB's wide smile, closer than expected, but at least not literally _on_ him. The truck was mere inches away, balanced precariously on his stops in an attempt to scale the difference in their heights. He stared into Rusty's face unabashedly, expression open and excited, and clutched in his right hand was a small bundle of green leaves. He held it above their heads like a beacon.

"...CB?"

"Yes, Rusty?"

"What are you, um...what is that?"

CB's expression faltered, his ever-present smile slipping away, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. It only lasted for a few seconds before his features smoothed into a mellow smile.

"A mistletoe," he cocked his head to the side, "Haven't you seen one before?"

"Well, sure, but—," Rusty gestured hopelessly at where CB still held the stalk above their heads, "—why are you holding it like that?"

There was another shift in the truck's features that Rusty wasn't accustomed to— a few, in fact. First was the unmistakable surprise _:_ CB's eyes, always curiously wide and laser-focused, widened further still, his eyebrows raising and mouth parting minutely. Then there was something that could have been regret: his mouth snapped back shut and he tore his eyes away from Rusty's to look aside, his brow drawn and bottom lip pursed, expression uncharacteristically uncertain.

And then came the final— and most devastating— shift: back to plain old CB. His brow smoothed and his pout relaxed, his eyes clearing: no longer shadowed and contemplative, but bright and eager. When his gaze landed back on Rusty's, a crooked smile was on his face. Whatever internal crisis the little red caboose had been going through was over in a matter of seconds— the only thing Rusty could see now on his face was excitement laced with mischief.

And Rusty suddenly felt very, very nervous.

"It's a human tradition!" CB gushed, rocking back and forth on his wheels. Rusty looked on with what he hoped was an expression more encouraging than nervous: he didn't have as much cause to deal with humans as a caboose would and knew little of their traditions, never mind one that might interest _this_ caboose. CB's arm, which had slacked throughout the course of their conversation, raised again with renewed vigor. "It goes that when two people are caught beneath it at the same time...they have to kiss."

CB looked down with these last words, almost shy, but quickly looked back up to purposefully hold Rusty's gaze. Rusty blinked, CB's meaning taking a moment to sink in.

He swallowed. "Kiss?"

CB nodded vigorously. "Mhm!"

Rusty waited for CB to go on— to say what, he didn't know, but to hopefully do something more than just leave the engine to deal with that revelation on his own. But the little truck seemed content with the silence: he smiled sweetly into Rusty's face, stare unyielding and intense in a way that should've been uncomfortable but was just CB.

"Polestar," Rusty blurted, and CB giggled. "I um— I mean, I just wasn't expecting— I, uh, didn't know— I didn't know that you—," Rusty cringed as he cut himself off, scratching the back of his curly head in a show of nerves, "I just wasn't... expecting... _this_?"

CB nodded seriously. "It's okay, Rusty. I get it. You don't have to..." He trailed off and looked down, arms crossing behind his back, the toe of his right skate drawing nervous half circles into the snow at his feet. He was the perfect image of shy, embarrassed rejection. He looked up, all big eyes and pouted mouth, and gave a tiny shrug. "I mean, only if you want to..."

"I don't— NOT want to, I don't not want to," Rusty rushed, grimacing at his poor choice of words, the flash of genuine hurt that crossed CB's face when he heard _don't_ , the general disaster that this entire conversation was. "I don't not want to! Really. I just wasn't, y'know. Expecting this. And, I mean, I've never even— I just—,"

"Rusty."

Rusty exhaled, relieved at the interruption. "Yeah, CB?"

"Will you kiss me?"

Rusty felt something cave in him, then— a sudden acceptance, or tenderness, or _something_ , released inside him, the way the tension in a rubberband drawn too tight might release with a slack of pressure. He couldn't quite keep the affection out of his voice when he answered. "Yeah, CB. Of course."

After all: he didn't _not_ want to.

CB smiled at him— and CB always smiled, but Rusty had never seen this one, that softened his face and turned his eyes into crescent moons.

The caboose closed what little distance there was between them, reaching up to place his hands on Rusty's frosty shoulders. The mistletoe was still caught in his grasp, the tiny leaves brushing ticklishly against Rusty's ear.

He stood stiff and still, terribly out of water, but CB didn't seem to mind. He moved his hands from atop Rusty's shoulders to lace behind his head, fingers twining surprisingly gently between the black curls. Rusty didn't resist as the truck pulled his head down to meet him in the middle: just closed his eyes and let himself sink.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting the kiss to be— probably something that was a lot like CB himself: shameless, and enthusiastic, and loud— something that would work his jaw and let him taste what CB had for breakfast.

The kiss he got was little more than a press of lips. Rusty was acutely aware of the _feel_ of CB: the coolness of his lips, the way they overlapped with his own, the nudge of the caboose's nose against his own. It was chaste, but lingering. Intimate, for all its innocence.

CB pressed a firmer kiss against the engine's lips before pulling away, one that deepened the press of their lips and resulted in the slightest noise when they parted. Rusty mindlessly chased after the caboose, leaning down as if to catch his lips again, before coming to his senses, his eyes snapping open and spine straightening up.

He looked down at CB, who was smiling softly at him.

Rusty's fingers twitched at his sides. He hadn't touched CB at all. Maybe he should have? He looked down the truck's body, at his waist, his hips, all the places he could've held and didn't. He felt almost miffed at himself.

"See?" the truck's voice cut through his musings, "That wasn't so bad!"

"No," Rusty agreed, voice low, rough. His eyes snapped up when he realized where he was looking, heat flooding his face. He cleared his throat. "It was great, CB. Thanks. I'm, um...flattered."

Rusty pulled nervously at his ear, cringing at his awkward words. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt quite so idiotic in a single conversation.

CB beamed at him. "Thank you, Rusty," he said, sounding the most sincere Rusty had ever heard him.

Then he tucked the sprig of mistletoe into the back of his belt, swiveled on his wheels, and began skating away in long strokes.

Rusty blinked. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"To Dinah's!" CB spun around and flashed him a smile. "She's baking today! I'm going to watch!"

Watch. Not even "help", just watch.

CB gave him a thumbs up. "You got it, Rusty! I'll see ya later!"

Rusty watched the caboose rush off, almost awed at his gall if it weren't so typical. He waited on the irritation, but it never came. Rusty supposed that made sense: he'd wanted to come alone in the first place. And CB was, well...

He was just CB.

It didn't take Rusty long to clear the rest of the freight yard out, and when he was through found himself still ripe with energy. The Sun was high in the sky now, and when he looked across the yard— blanketed in white snow that glittered in the sunlight, offset by a clear blue sky— he felt something light and breathless rise in his chest.

It was a beautiful day. And so far, it hadn't been so bad, either.

The steamer ran a hand through his hair, intending to brush out any snow that'd gotten caught in it, and paused when his fingers caught on something prickly and hard. He picked it out, and when he brought his hand around found it full of crushed leaves and white berries. Rusty remembered earlier when CB had laced his fingers around the back of his head to pull him down for the kiss. He had never let go of the mistletoe.

Rusty thumbed at one of the white berries, rolling it around his palm. He stood there for a while, thinking of that kiss. Eventually he turned his hand to the side and watched as the remnants of the mistletoe fell to the ground, the white berries instantly indistinguishable from the snow. He shook the stiffness out of his limbs and began to make his way out of the freight yard, a single destination in mind.

He wanted to see what Dinah was baking.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up at chessiesystem.tumblr.com if you want to talk StEx!


End file.
